A Little Help From My Friends
Since this blog is titled Write on the Water, I am calling all on the Water readers to help me Write.
For the past thirteen years, I have lived on the water on yachts of varying sizes as chef. We’ve had licensed first officers, engineers and deckhands to work the actual mechanics of cruising the boat. In fact, I’m married to the captain, so you can imagine how much practical boat experience I have. The standard belief is that as long as they are well fed, I need not worry about what is happening in the bridge or on deck. Which has been great for my culinary education where I can focus on going to the markets in Italy and Greece and learning local recipes, but not so much for my maritime knowledge.
Now, I find myself in the middle of writing a novel about a woman who just found out her father wasn’t dead for the past thirty years like she’d thought, but in the Caribbean searching for sunken treasure. She sails her father’s thirty-two foot boat to the islands in search of a man she’s never known. My knowledge of sailing is limited to Lasers and Hobie Cats, so I’d love to ask the sailing readers for their opinion and experience.
Does this scene seem authentic? Do I have the sailing technique correct? Has anyone ever hit a sunfish and would like to tell me about it?
* * *
The day passed quickly. Pleased with her progress, Kevyn headed down into the cabin, Athens following close behind. The radar was set to alert her with an alarm if any boat came within six miles of Wander. She grabbed the can opener out of her one drawer for utensils and opened a bowl of soup, which she dumped into one of her two pots onboard and set it on the gimbaled stove to heat.
She scrambled up the two wooden stairs and stuck her head out the hatch. She scanned the horizon quickly for boats and in seeing none retreated back into the cabin to make a sandwich.
She spread hummus on a slice of wheat bread and reached for a tomato in the vegetable basket.
Thud! A loud boom cracked throughout the cabin. The room shuddered and rose up under her feet, knocking Kevyn off balance. Her hips smashed into the stainless steel corner of the stove.
Wander’s forward motion slowed to a crawl while the pot flew across the counter and slammed into the bulkhead. Tomato soup sloshed up and out, splattering all over the wall.
Kevyn clung to the edge of the stove and tried to regain her balance. “What the hell?”
Athens hunched his back and hissed. His claws dug into the leather upholstery of the dining banquet.
This time, Kevyn bolted up the stairs and searched the horizon wildly. There was no boat in sight, but it felt like Wander had hit a brick wall.
“What happened?”
No one answered.
A gust of wind filled Wander’s sails and she picked up speed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kevyn spotted a round shape half the size of Wander’s hull floating on the surface of the water. It looked like a huge flat fish head with a ruffled tail. Two fins stuck out like airplane wings on either side. One pitch-black, unblinking eye stared at Kevyn as Wander sailed past. Is that what she hit?
As if the prehistoric looking mass had awakened from being stunned, it flipped its flimsy body in a corkscrew and an elongated fin sliced out of the water like the menacing approach of Jaws in the movies.
Kevyn stumbled backwards and tripped over the tiller. She fell onto the port cushions as she watched the Jurassic fish submerge and swim away, seemingly unscathed.
Kevyn’s heart beat fast. Her palms sweat and her throat was dry.
She was only eight hours out of Savannah and all she wanted was to turn her boat around and go home.
* * *
I’d appreciate some advice from those with sailing knowledge if I’ve come close to having the boat react like it would or if I’ve mixed up sailing with motoring or with….
Thank you.
With a little help from my friends I might just be able to write on the water again.
Victoria Allman
author of: SEAsoned: A Chef’s Journey with Her Captain
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